


Pair

by SmutForAll (Searece)



Series: Berthroom Fics [2]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-08
Updated: 2015-07-08
Packaged: 2018-04-08 09:34:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4299738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Searece/pseuds/SmutForAll
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jazz is a Decepticon pleasuredoll, and Prowl is an Autobot who occasionally infiltrates Decepticon base with Special Ops groups.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pair

He vented out harshly as he grinned madly, trailing through the corridors of the Decepticon base as silently as a cybercat stalking its prey. Mercilessly he slaughtered any ‘Cons in his path, loving to be used by the Autobots as a sparkless killing machine. His current mission was to clear out a minor base so the Special Ops mecha following him could extract any information. He wasn’t always used like this, but he made the best of when he was.

Pausing, he held out a servo to tell the mechs behind him to stop. He heard something, panting and whimpering. His grin curled wider as he stalked closer to the noise, recognizing the sounds of interfacing. Quite rough interfacing if he heard right.

“C’mon, slut, you c’n do better than that,” growled a rough voice, obviously the dom of the pair.

A soft “pop!” followed those words, and an unusually gentle voice responded, “I’m sorry—”

“Then do better,” growled the rougher, a soft cry following his words. Wet slurping noises ensued, along with choked sounds.

Prowl, engine revving in arousal at this point, tore the locks off the door he’d pressed his audial against, and broke the door from its slot in the wall, pulling it out without remorse as he disturbed the couple inside the room.

He barely took the time to notice the taller mech’s Iaconian frame or violet armor, and instead went straight on to ripping him apart while the smaller mech on the floor looked on in evident shock. Prowl’s optics were wild when he turned his attention back to the mech cowering against the wall. The Praxian took in the other’s features—a black and red Polyhexian frame with yellow highlights, no visor, audial fins instead of the typical horns.

His observation was interrupted by a jab of pain in his side. He snarled and dismembered the Decepticon he hadn’t seen. Once the voyeur was strewn all over the floor, Prowl turned back to the Polyhexian who wasn’t scared anymore, though Prowl couldn’t figure out why, when he’d just seen two of his comrades killed before his optics.

The smaller shuddered, sitting up straighter on his knees as he gazed at the Praxian in front of him. Prowl purred lustfully, stalking closer to the small ‘Con. Transfluid covered various parts of the other’s body, centering on his face and thighs. All of his interfacing panels, penetrative and hardline, were exposed, and Prowl could tell the mech's sparkplating was cracked open as well.

Though having only just seen the small mech, Prowl definitely didn’t like the sight of the transfluid on his body. Growling at the thought, he knelt in front of him, taking the other’s face in his servos and starting to lick the vile fluid from his faceplates. Surprised, the smaller mewled in response, glossa dipping out of his mouth to caress the Praxian’s.

Possessively Prowl kissed the slim mech, enjoying his responsiveness as he moaned softly. Soon, though, he jerked back and pulled the dazed Polyhexian up and towards the doorway, where his Autobot comrades were gaping at him. The Polyhexian stumbled a bit behind him, but didn’t complain and even seemed used to being mech-handled. The smaller didn’t know what was going on, nor why he was being dragged away from his job, but he rather enjoyed the passionate kiss from the Praxian. Maybe the Praxian had gotten jealous and didn’t want to wait for some time with him? The small mech’s lips curled up gently at the thought. He didn’t know where he was being taken, but he didn’t care because he knew he’d be safe. He was always safe, being one of Lord Megatron’s favored possessions. With a slim frame, musical voice, and talented servos with slender digits perfect for finding all the sensitive spots on a Cybertronian frame, that he was Lord Megatron’s favorite was nothing worth wondering, because the fact was so obviously true that someone shouldn’t need to question it.

Prowl stopped at the doorway to give the smaller a pointed look.

The Polyhexian looked up, then back down to see his equipment still exposed to the open air. Oh. He’d gotten so used to the feeling that he ignored it, but the Praxian must not like him displaying himself so boldly. With a sigh, the smaller closed his valve panel and shoed his pressurized spike back into its housing before looking hopefully back up at the Praxian. He wanted to know if that was what the mech wanted.

Indeed the mech nodded, satisfied with the other’s appearance. As he resumed dragging the mech around, Prowl pleasantly noted that the smaller could easily keep up with him. He dropped his grip on the smaller to slaughter a Decepticon crossing his path, and after, looked back to see if the Polyhexian was still behind him.

The Polyhexian was, but none of the Spec. Ops mecha were.

Prowl shrugged to himself. Those crazy mechs were probably in the vents following him (or hiding from him).

The Polyhexian looked a bit scared, Prowl noticed. He placed his servo on the smaller’s, bringing it up to kiss to reassure the other, who smiled in response. Huh, so a kind gesture did wonders on occasion. The smaller perked up and gestured for him to lead the way too wherever they were going. Prowl’s armor fluffed in a distinctively Praxian preening way as he turned back to continue on to the communication hub for the minor base. Once slaughtering all of the mechs in the room, he stepped to the side to clutch the mildly frightened Polyhexian close to him, purring when he felt the smaller press closer to him despite watching him kill those mecha.

A couple Autobot Spec. Ops mecha slithered into the room to extract any intel they could while the rest were off doing only Primus-knew-what. Prowl didn’t particularly care as long as he got out of the base with his lithe prize, who he desired to claim fiercely once they got him back to the Autobot base. His little prize wiggled in uncertainty when one of the Autobots stepped closer to inspect him, and Prowl growled defensively when the femme got too close for his liking. The femme nodded, coupled with a frown and an odd servo gesture that Prowl knew meant they were ready to leave. Baring his denta in a feral grin, he sharply nodded back, gripping the Polyhexian’s servo to get the smaller to follow him. Confused and a little scared, the smaller did easily, not looking at any of the other bots that popped up suddenly beside them.

The Autobots didn’t worry about being heard. They’d set charges at multiple places at the ‘Con base and weren’t worried about the noise they caused.

Mere minutes later Prowl was hauling the small Decepticon aboard the stealth ship the Autobots had arrived in.

While most of the Autobots gazed suspiciously at the tiny slip of a ‘Con, they didn’t question Prowl because they wouldn’t get an answer and they knew it. Many of them suspected that Prowl himself didn’t even know why he’d dragged the Polyhexian on board the ship. They stayed quiet both verbally and over comms, not certain what his specialties were. Pit, for all they knew, he was a mind-reader like Soundwave and was listening to their very thoughts.

To their minor relief, however, Prowl held the Polyhexian tightly in his lap, tightly enough to cause the mech to squeak in discomfort when he shifted. In return, Prowl would loosen his grip briefly, which caused the smaller mech to sigh in relief until the Praxian’s grip tightened again.

This awkwardness continued until they reached the Autobot outpost not far from Iacon.

\--

With a soft purr in his systems, the Praxian stood from his seat, carrying the Polyhexian like a life-size doll in his servos. A tiny squeak escaped the smaller as the Praxian carried him down the ramp of the shuttle, growling and glaring at any who tried to stop them. Eventually he was set down and pulled into what he recognized as a set of washracks. His face brightened even as he was mech-handled into a stall in the far corner. He looked around curiously, noting that these washracks looked different than any he’d been in before. They were brighter and cleaner than all except maybe Lord Megatron’s personal set. They weren’t as tall as his Lord Megatron’s set, but in his opinion, they were just as nice. The Polyhexian perked up more when he finally heard the sound of running solvent water. It was warm, he could already tell that much from the steam already rising from it.

He couldn’t help but wiggle in excitement as he wondered what the Praxian had in store for him. The Praxian turned to him after soaping up a cloth and motioned for him to step closer. The Polyhexian did so, spreading his servos and pedes without being asked. A happy chirr escaped him when he received a gentle pet to his audial fins in return for the action, the taller letting him know he’d done well. Smiling up at the other, Jazz patiently waited as the taller swiftly got to work cleaning him, at times scrubbing a bit harshly to remove the filth from his frame. Soft purrs escaped the Polyhexian as his fins were caressed with the lightest of touches, rubbed gently to relax his frame. He hadn’t known he was so tense, but apparently his new master had.

When the Praxian’s ministrations continued down his neck, the smaller tilted his helm back to let him have easier access and was rewarded with a glossa swiping across his sensitive fins. At the unexpected touch, he mewled in pleasure. His master paused briefly before continuing on.

Everything continued without a hitch from then on until the Praxian came to his chest, having briefly cleaned his back and shoulders. It was then that the smaller realized that his sparkplating was still cracked open, as the other mech carefully shut it manually. The Polyhexian didn’t feel any embarrassment from knowing he’d been partly so intimately exposed in front of so many bots. His function was to pleasure others, after all, which he loved doing so much.

His processor flashed back to when just hours before when he’d been “performing” for the bonded pair. Splotch had been forcing him to choke on his spike, not an activity he enjoyed but one he wouldn’t protest doing so long as he got to breathe every few moments. So, no, choking on purged energon wasn’t his favorite interfacing activity.

This Praxian hadn’t yet engaged him in any interfacing activity, but he almost couldn’t wait until he finally did because he just knew that this mech would take care of him. Any mech as possessive as the Praxian seemed to be always took care of what they considered theirs, and they would always fix him afterward, no matter the damage, though if his valve walls had been damaged he couldn’t be spiked until they healed enough to pass a medic’s inspection.

A shudder rippled through his frame, having absolutely nothing to do with the pleasant way the Praxian’s servos caressed his middle. He hated medics, was terrified of them, at least when they were doing their job. When they weren’t doing their job was when he didn’t mind them.

He jolted back to reality when the taller mech kneeled and swiped the washcloth over his pelvic array. Immediately his paneling retracted, instinctive for him, but then he covered himself when he quickly realized that the other was still just cleaning him and had given him a mildly disapproving look. The disapproving look left the other’s features, replaced by one of approval as the Praxian worked to remove the tough stains on Jazz’s armor.

Unbidden, a yawn escaped the Polyhexian as he relaxed under his master’s touches. He’d been awake longer than he should have been, first having been traveling to the compound this mech had taken him from, then pleasuring all who came to him, and finally traveling to wherever he was now, though where he was presented a mystery to him although he didn’t particularly care while he was being lavished attention to so nicely.

When the scrubbing finally left his codpiece and moved onto his legs, he squirmed and squeaked. His legs were rather sensitive; touches to them had the ability to drive him crazy with lust but never be enough to give him a fully satisfactory overload. When the Praxian cleaned his knees, the Polyhexian trembled, weak at the ticklish feelings. Whenever he was touched there when aroused, pleasure shot threw him, but when touched there when not aroused, he laughed, which was exactly what he did. He tried to muffle his laughter, though.

The Praxian glanced up, amused at the ticklish spot on the smaller mech. Not spending any more time than strictly necessary on any one part of the other’s body, he swiftly rubbed down the smaller’s shinguards and down to his pedes, lifting one at a time to clean the bottom of each. He motioned for the Polyhexian to turn around and he did so. He heels were firmly, though gently, scrubbed over. Next came the back of his calves, the plating there quivering under the “assault.” His faint giggles grew in volume as the cloth picked at the back of his knees, soon erupting into full laughter. He jerked when the cloth was abandoned in favor of wiggly digits running over his easily-discovered ticklish spots. A delighted shriek escaped him when the Praxian caught him as the strength left his legs and he collapsed. So rarely was he touched so innocently that he’d forgotten what it felt like. Maybe innocently wasn’t the right word. Perhaps “without ill intention” was a better phrase? Or maybe “without the desire to interface” would be best?

He didn’t particularly care at that moment, but laying there on his stomach while being tickled to absolute deactivation, he found himself caring even less. The skittish touches continued making him laugh louder and harder as they continued up his thighs to his aft and continuing to his sides, where he wheezed from the touches, still trying to laugh but unable to. The digits shifted to massaging his sides and legs, so gentle he desired to fall into recharge.

However, his laughter had apparently drawn unwanted attention. He heard words in the washracks, wondering who was laughing. A low growl graced his audials, and he realized it was the Praxian making the sound. In response, the Polyhexian cooed softly to try to relax the Master, who obviously wasn’t happy with the disruption.

The Praxian pulled him up, pushing him under the nozzle to rinse him off. He fluffed out his armor to let the solvent wash through his protoform. He twirled, splashing his face under the spray. Having a shower without being too molested was a rare treat for him. The smaller mech turned to the Praxian once finished.

A quick nod made the smaller rather happy. To him, the nod signified approval, which he was always seeking. Demurely, he folded his servos together in front of his stomach.

The Praxian turned to the door of the washrack’s stall. He laid a servo on the handle, pushing it open only very slightly before a groan escaped him and he collapsed, his body shoving the door open.

\--

The Prime watched the small Decepticon fidget worriedly in the cell he’d been placed in. there was likely no reason to worry, considering that Prowl usually collapsed after a mission to a Decepticon base, but the Autobots couldn’t be sure something else hadn’t happened during the Praxian’s alone time with the ‘Con.

They had elected to have cameras set up in the brig cell the Polyhexian was in, to make sure he wouldn’t do anything foolish.

Inside the cell, slate grey walls bordered the mech, the ceiling an oppressive red color. The only open side had energy bars blocking access to the mech’s freedom. The small mech didn’t seem too concerned about his predicament, instead seeming to worry more about Prowl after his crash. The caged mech paced to and fro in the cell, tossing nervous glances out as he walked in tiny circles.

With an unheard sigh, the Prime strode out of the conference room and down to the brig to speak with the little mech. Undoubtedly he was unnerved at the mech’s dim stare, which brightened as he stepped up to the bars.

“Is he alright?” concernedly asked the tiny mech as the Prime knelt in front of the cell. Almost hopping from pede to pede, the smaller almost didn’t give the Prime a chance to squeeze his words out.

“Do you mean Prowl?” he asked not unkindly, trying to make his tone neutral all the same.

“If Prowl is the Master’s name, then yes. Oh, I mean the Praxian master, of course, the nice one who collapsed in the pretty washracks.”

The little mech was so nervous and jittery with fright that the Prime couldn’t help but answer him despite his confusion about the mech’s words.

“He is fine. I would like to ask you a few questions about your encounter with him.”

The smaller mech stayed silent for a few moments, debating what to say. Eventually he regained his internal composure and asked, “What do you wish, Prime?” His servos clasped each other as he shifted from pede to pede again.

Though surprised at being called by his title, the Prime stood from his half-kneel and opened the cell door without letting his surprise show and ignoring the protest of his guard.

He led the smaller mech to an interrogation room and had him sit down at the far end of the table in the blank grey room.

The smaller mech looked around curiously, his field open with concern and intrigue.

“What is your name?” asked the Prime when the smaller looked back at him. “I am Optimus Prime.”

The Polyhexian hesitated, “Jazz. I am Jazz.”

Optimus smiled behind his face mask. This little mech seemed so innocent. That the small mech drew pleasant, happy feelings from the Matrix was surprising, considering how little he really knew of the mech. He blinked in surprise as Jazz bowed deeply.

“It is an honor to meet the Prime,” said the small mech.

“Oh? Do you know much about me, Jazz?” questioned Optimus curiously.

“Not much, sir,” the smaller gave another bow, “just what my Lord Master told me.” Granted, that had been mostly bad things, but they hadn’t seemed too bad to him. Jazz smiled. In fact, his Lord Master had almost seemed to have a crush on the Prime, which was actually rather cute though Jazz had never said so.

Optimus wondered who the mech’s “Lord Master” was. He decided not to ask, however, and went to what he was supposed to be asking, the interrogation questions.

A few hours later, he hadn’t gotten much out of the lithe ‘Con, other than propositions and the idea that Jazz really didn’t know much. A sigh escaped him, and he slowly stood from his chair.

“You have to leave?” asked Jazz, unhappy with the thought.

“Yes, and so do you,” smiled the Prime.

“Oh, where are we going?” eagerly questioned the smaller, bouncing up from his chair the moment the magnetic locks keeping him there released.

“Secret,” rumbled the Prime, smiling down at Jazz.

“Aw, I don’t like surprises,” pouted Jazz, not meaning the words at all, “Give me a hint, please?”

Optimus, sliding his gaze sideways for a moment, thought about that. Should he really give the smaller mech a hint? With a chuckle, he decided, “No, it is a secret, one I know you will enjoy.” Carefully, he reached out a servo to pet the little mech’s helm.

Purring, Jazz stopped in his walk to nuzzle into the servo, greatly enjoying the contact. He squeaked in disappointment when the Prime pulled away to resume their trek. Though the bots in the hallway stared and looked extremely curious, none of them came up to Optimus and Jazz, and Jazz barely gave them any mind.

\--

Prowl blinked as he woke to the sudden blinding pain on his sensory panels. A soft grunt escaped him before the pain faded into the background, Ratchet’s voice coming to preeminence.

“. . . and this block-helmed circuit board just had to avoid the medbay just until his processors rebooted! Tacticians, always so stubborn,” his tone suddenly changed until Prowl could tell the attention was directed at him, “And you more than most!”

Prowl twitched in surprise, optics flicking on after everything signaled as operational. Immediately the familiarly comforting surroundings of the medbay popped into his vision. Directly above him, however, was Ratchet, and he grimaced at the fury on the medic’s face. He wasn’t scared of the mech, like so many others were, but Ratchet’s stubbornness regarding his patients rivaled his own concern about his tacticians.

“What were you thinking?” bellowed Ratchet, “You could have had an even worse meltdown than the last time!”

“I likely was only thinking about ridding myself of the filth decorating my armor,” calmly responded Prowl, sitting up with the medic motioned for him to.

“Yeah,” snorted Ratchet, “tell that to the tiny slip of a ‘con you dragged back here.”

The tactician mouthed the words over to himself as Ratchet checked his joints for rust. “Who did I drag back this time?” he asked. The last one had been a minibot named Bumblebee.

“Not sure what his name is, but he’s got a good personality to him,” Ratchet admitted after a moment. The CMO saying that somebot had a good personality was truly a compliment, as he said it only rarely. “Tries a little too hard to please mecha, though. Too bad we haven’t gotten a chance to scan his processors yet.”

Prowl quirked an optic ridge as the medic let him sit up. “I fully expect to be briefed on all situations as soon as possible, Ratchet.” The quickest way to escape the medic’s clutches was to comply with his demands.

The medic snorted, “Yeah, sure. You’ve got visitors.”

Prowl blinked curiously as Ratchet abruptly walked out of the room to fetch his “visitors.” Half expecting an Ops mech, the tactician was surprised when the Prime strode into the room, followed by his attachment of a jaunty mech wearing the Decepticon emblem. That the smaller wasn’t bound by stasis cuffs and that no extra guards were nearby was even more of a surprise. The smaller smiled wider at spotting him and made to step forward as if to hug him, but Optimus held him back gently.

“Jazz,” gently rumbled the Prime, “this is Prowl, the mech who took you from the Decepticons.”

“Hi,” the smaller mech beamed at Prowl, evidently very happy to see him.

“Hello,” Prowl’s sensory panels twitched uncertainly, “I can’t say I remember you.”

Jazz tilted his helm, “May I ask why?”

What a polite mech. Prowl shook his helm, “No. It is a medical matter that I do not wish to divulge.”

The smaller nodded in acknowledgement. He’d served mecha in the past who had medical conditions and figured this master was no different. “Okay,” he smiled softly, and slowly walked up to the handsome Praxian, asking him, “May I sit down beside you?”

“You are so very polite, I think you may,” Prowl nodded. The phrasing was rather playful, which surprised the still-watching Optimus.

The Polyhexian perked up right away and jovially hopped upon the berth, crossing his legs as he leaned against the master. “Thank you so much. May I touch your wings, master?” he requested, making sure to be extra polite because he could tell from the Praxian’s previous comment that he favored politeness and respect.

“Master? Why called me that?” Prowl tried not to show his unease at the title.

“Because you are Master,” shrugged the small mech, not knowing why Prowl was confused. Wasn’t what he was obvious? “You are the one I serve right now.”

“So the Master changes regularly?” asked Prowl with cautious optics as he lifted a servo to rest on the other’s helm and pet his sensory "fins."

“My Master is whoever wants me at the time they seek me. However, my Lord Master’s status is hard-coded into my processor,” answered Jazz smoothly as if he’d practiced reciting it. For all Prowl knew, he had.

The Praxian quirked his sensory panels in curiosity as the smaller quickly leaned into the touch even as he spoke. At the minute motion, Jazz’s optics flashed to the curved panels adorning Prowl’s pack and a soft whine escaped the mech.

“Please, oh, please, may I touch your sensory panels?” he begged shamelessly, his servos clenching on his thighs, “I so very much desire to touch you.”

Prowl sighed at the desperate gaze before nodding, “You may, but only for a few moments.”

Jazz hummed in pure delight as he slowly caressed the sensitive panels. They weren’t smooth and even surfaces like they appeared to be upon first sight, and the scars under his digittips told of many battles fought and injuries healed. It meant Prowl was stronger than he seemed to be, which Jazz purred at.

“That’s enough,” Prowl said a few moments later with a slow wiggle of his sensory panels.

Jazz respectfully pulled his servos away despite the aching desire to touch them more. “Yes, master,” he acknowledged with a soft purr.

“Alright, you two,” suddenly interrupted a medic rather harshly, probably one of Ratchet’s apprentices, “Prowl needs his beauty rest so let him get it.”

The Decepticon pouted cutely and hopped off the berth rather quickly. He sauntered out of the room with Optimus before Prowl could get a word in edgewise, but at the very last second, turned around and blew a kiss to the tactician. Prowl blinked at the action, startled at the abruptness of their departure, before the medic exited the room again as well. As the only thing left to do was think about what had just happened, think Prowl did.

~end~


End file.
